"Now what shall we do next?" asked Wilmot, when dinner was over, stretching himself on his back under a tree, and putting his hat over his eyes.
"It is not difficult to guess what you intend to do," said Hope, laughing.
"I'm ready for anything," he answered; "but you would not let me help with the plates for fear of breaking them, and so I may as well wait in comfort."
"I shall rest here," said Mrs. Elliot, "and very likely go over and peep at the pony at the cottage, and have a talk with the woman who lives there all alone."
"We thought of going down to the shore; it is so lovely there, mamma," said Hope.
"Very well; but take care of the little ones."
"Oh, yes, we'll do that! But shall you not be dull?"
"Oh dear, no. I have brought my knitting, and there is a book in the pony carriage if I want it."
So they wished her good-bye, and left her. She watched their retreating forms down the green slope till they were lost in a turn of the road, and then her mind wandered over the events of the morning, over Nellie's conversation, and over the memories of her past life.
What had her life done for her? It had been one long struggle with a large family, and small means—a struggle which had been unblessed by the comforting assurance of a Father's providing care. She had worked and thought and wearied for her husband and children because she must; because life, with its treadmill round of duties, had forced her. She had not known that there was sustaining strength to bear her on her way; nor had she the comfort of the highest motive for doing her labour cheerfully, even because it was meted out to her as her portion of her Father's will.